Historical Romance Boxed Set

by Brenda Novak

  “And the sails?”

  Hawker’s weathered face broke into a smile. “They’re ‘olding up nicely. We found plenty of spares, an’ repaired most o’ the riggin’. If we ‘adn’t lost the mizzenmast, we’d be ‘alfway ter London by now.”

  “What speed are we making?”

  “Maybe three knots.”

  Treynor smiled. “Not exactly racing home, are we, Hawker?”

  “No, sir, but we’re movin’ steadily, thanks to ye. If ye ‘adn’t done what ye did …well, we’d all be in France right now—and ‘Is Majesty would not own this froggy excuse for a frigate.”

  “The credit belongs to all of us.” Waving away the bosun’s offer of help, Treynor blanched as he sat up. Jealousy—he refused to call it love—had motivated him as much as patriotism to act as he did, but he wasn’t about to volunteer that information to Hawker.

  The bosun harrumphed. “I don’t give credit where credit ain’t due. Like Mrs. ‘Awker says, ye played the ‘and what was dealt ye like the man of ‘onor we know ye to be.”

  Treynor’s mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. A man of honor didn’t try to seduce a lady. There were prostitutes enough to exhaust one’s lust. He had never lacked for female companionship. Yet the thought of taking anyone other than Jeannette to his bed no longer appealed to him. Somehow, he had gotten caught in his own web. A man of honor didn’t do that either, only a fool.

  “I can see ye don’t like ter ‘ear such praise,” Hawker went on. “But ye are what ye are, sir. No one can take that away from ye.”

  Treynor tried to ignore the prick of guilt the bosun’s words caused. Fortunately, a flash of color at the door caught his eye. He turned, but was disappointed to see Mrs. Hawker and not Jeannette push her way into the room, carrying a tray of food.

  “Where is Lady St. Ives?” he asked.

  Mrs. Hawker’s expression let him know she did not approve. “Ah, Lieutenant. An ‘ighborn lady like ‘er can only spell trouble for the likes of a sailor, lieutenant or no. Ye’d best forget her.”

  He didn’t need someone else to echo his own opinion. He held up a hand to stop the outspoken bosun’s wife before she had a chance to get started. “Please, don’t bother,” he grumbled. “I plan to do exactly that.”

  Mrs. Hawker fisted her hands on her hips. “I’m glad to ‘ear it, but gettin’ over ‘er won’t be easy.”

  Treynor let his irritation show. He knew Jeannette had managed to gain possession of a small piece of his heart—actually, she possessed the whole of it. But he was determined to reclaim it and get on with his life. She had to go back to England and get an annulment from the baron; he had a war to fight. The fact that he couldn’t get her out of his mind was merely fate’s revenge for laughing at other romantic fools.

  “I have never had a hard time forgetting a woman before,” he told Mrs. Hawker. “And I do not plan to start now.”

  * * *

  The four days it took to get to England were the longest of Jeannette’s life. The Superbe limped along, barely moving in the water while Jeannette waited impatiently to see her parents and to reach Lord Darby so she could plead with him to help her annul her marriage.

  Meanwhile, the memory of the sinking of the Tempest haunted her at night, as did her encounter with Lieutenant Favre. She yearned to visit Treynor’s cabin and let Treynor make her forget. But his words when she last spoke to him, and the knowledge that they would soon be home, forced her to concentrate on her future and forget about the second lieutenant.

  “There ye be.” Amelia startled Jeannette while she stared out over the choppy water near the bow.

  Jeannette was surprised to see Amelia without her baby. “Where is little Denton?” It had taken Amelia some time to name her baby, but Jeannette had learned just that morning that she’d decided on an uncle’s name.

  “Mrs. ‘Awker dotes on ‘im. She insisted I take a turn out in the sunshine while she rocks ‘im.”

  Jeannette smiled. The Hawkers had taken Amelia in like a long-lost daughter.

  “I’ve never thanked ye proper for yer ‘elp.” Amelia shifted on her feet, looking awkward. “Ye know …with the baby an’ all.”

  “There is no need. I am happy you are both doing so well.”

  “Aye. We’re thrivin’, that we are. But yer lookin’ more miserable by the day.”

  Jeannette turned her face away from Amelia’s shrewd gaze. “I am tired of mildewy biscuits,” she said, attempting to lighten the mood.

  “Yer lovesick. That’s what ye are. An’ if the lieutenant ‘ad any sense, ‘e’d see ‘e loves ye, too.”

  “The lieutenant knows exactly what he wants. And it is not love.”

  “Trust me. I know men better than ye think. I knew Denton’s father didn’t love me, but I wanted ‘im to so badly I chose to believe anythin’ ‘e told me. But the lieutenant is quite another sort o’ man.”

  With a laugh, Jeannette gave Amelia a shake of her head. “And how do you know the lieutenant so well?”

  Amelia pursed her lips. “The ‘Awkers talk about him all the time. And they say ‘e’s always askin’ about ye, that ‘e’s gettin’ right angry ye won’t answer ‘is summons.”

  “Summons! As if he is royalty!”

  “‘E is around ‘ere.”

  “Well, I don’t care who he is. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

  Amelia gave her an exaggerated wink. “I think ‘e’s met ‘is match. That’s what I think.”

  “Jeannette!”

  Jeannette turned to see Mrs. Hawker trudging across the deck, carrying Amelia’s baby.

  “The lieutenant would like ter see ye.”

  “I am afraid I have other plans,” Jeannette responded.

  “Then perhaps we can exchange a word out here.”

  Despite Mrs. Hawker’s frown and her wagging finger, Lieutenant Treynor made his way to the bulwarks. The bosun’s wife started to scold him for leaving his bed, but Amelia snickered and put her arm around the older woman, dragging her and the babe away.

  “I think the two of ‘em are just stubborn enough to deserve each other,” she said.

  Mrs. Hawker cast a doubtful glance over her shoulder. “She can only bring ‘im ‘eartache. She’s married ter a baron, for the love of Mary.”

  Amelia prodded her on. “The lieutenant can manage for ‘imself, right enough.”

  As Treynor watched them go, Jeannette tried to dodge him and follow in their wake, but he stepped in front of her. “Avoiding me, my dear?”

  Jeannette threw back her shoulders. “What would you have me do? Crawl into your hammock, then go home to tell my parents I am no longer a virgin?”

  “Is a visit to my sickbed too much to ask?” he asked with a scowl.

  Jeannette didn’t answer. She couldn’t sit primly beside him and pretend she didn’t care about him.

  The stubble on his chin gave him a more rugged appearance than usual. He rubbed it with one hand, his face growing thoughtful when she remained silent. “What will you do once you reach London?”

  “Apply to my father’s cousin, Lord Darby.”

  “And if he won’t help you?”

  Treynor had just voiced her secret fear, but Jeannette tried to sound confident when she replied. “He will.”

  “Will your parents support you in this?”

  “Oui.”

  “So you will receive an annulment and then what?”

  “Remarry, of course. I can hardly support my family by becoming a nun or a governess, although such a life has its appeal.”

  Anger darkened Treynor’s face. “And what if your new husband is as old and twisted as the baron? What will you think when a man like that takes you to his bed?”

  Of a broad chest covered with golden hair that swirls into a single line as it lowers to his navel and beyond… Her mouth suddenly dry, Jeannette closed her eyes. “That I did my duty.”

  “To your family perhaps.” He studied her carefully. “What if I help you? Set you
up in London? Provide for you and your family’s needs? I will probably receive more than two thousand pounds in prize money for this ship. I know it is not a lot to someone who has lived the kind of life you have, but if we are careful it could last for several years.”

  Set her up in London? But he had said nothing of marriage. Was he asking her to be his mistress? “In exchange for what?” she asked evenly, almost afraid to hear his answer.

  “At this juncture, I don’t know, but …we will see where it leads.”

  Her heart constricted with pain. “You know where it will lead. I suppose you expect me to thank you for that kind offer. But I will not disgrace myself or my family by being your whore or anyone else’s. Who knows? Perhaps after the annulment, my parents and I will find a man who can love me. Is that so difficult to believe?”

  His nostrils flared as a pained expression crossed his face, an expression that told Jeannette he wasn’t as indifferent as he’d like her to believe. “Not so difficult, no.”

  Then why is it too much to ask that you love me?

  The lookout gave a shout from high in the rigging. England was upon them.

  Jeannette bit her lip to keep from crying and turned away. The battle between her and St. Ives was waiting to be fought. Even if she freed herself from the baron’s grasp, there would be another loveless marriage behind the first. For all her brave words about marrying another, she had little hope of finding happiness with any one of the motley group of nobles who had shown interest in her before.

  But Treynor didn’t love her. He desired her, yes, even cared about her. She saw it in his eyes. But he didn’t feel as strongly for her as she did him. If he had asked her, she would have married him without a second thought.

  They stood together and watched the green jewel that was England grow larger and larger. Eventually, the Superbe entered the mouth of the Thames. Then Treynor spoke.

  “I will see you safely to your parents when we disembark.”

  “There is no need. I can make my own way.”

  “No.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Treynor’s jaw tighten. “You will allow me that much.”

  Chapter 21

  As soon as they reached solid ground, Treynor took firm hold of Jeannette’s elbow. He did not look back at the Superbe—the ship was now one among many in a forest of masts, her sails furled. The wharves near the Tower were a hive of activity. Dockmen and sailors mingled with officials and prostitutes, both looking to do business.

  News of the Superbe had arrived well before they did and a group had gathered to raise a cheer for her capture. But Treynor barely acknowledged their excitement. He had other things on his mind—like the saucy little lady who stalked down the street at his side.

  “We will get you out of those sailor’s clothes and back into a dress first thing,” he said as they dodged this way and that to avoid all the foot traffic and carts.

  “But where will we get a dress?” she asked. “To have one made would take days.”

  “I know a shop that sells used clothing.” He glanced at her attire as he hoisted the bag with his kit higher on his shoulder.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Used clothing?”

  “Don’t worry. The proprietor is a good friend. I am sure she has something that once belonged to a lady, kept clean and in good repair. There is a market for such things.”

  Jeannette frowned but followed his lead, her boot heels clacking above the various noises floating around them.

  “Afterward, we will get a room at an inn so we can bathe and have some supper,” he continued.

  “And then?”

  “We will get a good night’s sleep.”

  Jeannette looked at him for the first time, wariness in her eyes.

  “In separate rooms, if you like,” he added.

  “And tomorrow?” she pressed.

  “Tomorrow I will hire a carriage and take you to your cousin’s house so you can be reunited with your family.”

  “Certainly you have better things to do with your time, Lieutenant. I can take care of myself.”

  “I don’t think you realize how dangerous the city can be.”

  “I am not that innocent.”

  Treynor didn’t say anything. He couldn’t explain how important it was to him that she be kept safe.

  Jeannette glanced around as though she expected the baron, or the baron’s solicitor, to reach out and grab her. Lowering her eyes to the dirty street, she picked up her pace. “What will happen to the Superbe?”

  “Most likely the government will have her repaired and re-outfitted. Then she will receive a new name and head back out to sea, this time carrying an English crew.”

  “Will you be among them?”

  They passed Tower Hill and headed toward Aldgate. “I cannot say at this point. If I am lucky, I will be promoted to first lieutenant or possibly post-captain. There is even the remote possibility of a knighthood.” He shrugged. “It has happened to others. In any case, I will receive a significant share of the prize money derived from the Superbe.”

  “Wonderful. You must be very pleased.”

  Treynor ignored the sarcasm in her voice. Why, now that he had achieved all he had hoped for, did he feel emptier than before? He knew his lack of enthusiasm had much to do with the woman walking beside him, but he told himself she deserved more than a bastard.

  If she went back to her family, her life would follow the course it was meant to follow.

  Their time together was nearly over.

  * * *

  St. Ives heard the knocker clang against the brass plate on the front door from his study, where he was going over the household accounts. It was too late for visitors. But when the sound came again, louder and more insistent, he removed his spectacles and waited, wondering how long Harripen would take to rouse himself and answer the door.

  Too long, he decided when the knocker sounded again. Getting up, he hobbled to the gold-tasseled bellpull on the wall by his desk and gave it a yank, hoping to wake him. The butler slept in a room at the back of the house so he could guard the plate and silver—theft of such items was far more common in the city—but Harripen was older than St. Ives, and the baron feared the man was losing his hearing.

  Outside, whoever waited gave up on the knocker and began to bang on the door itself.

  “Lord St. Ives! Lord St. Ives! I bear a message for Lord St. Ives!”

  “Damn Harripen.” Percy winced at the pain his gout caused him as he grabbed his cane, took the candle that burned on his desk, and made his way down the stairs. It was possible that the messenger had brought word of his missing bride.

  Percy cracked open the door, then felt a moment’s trepidation at his own impulsiveness. It was late, and he carried no weapon. He could be opening his home to a band of thieves or murderers. But the deed was done. The wind whooshed into the house, tearing the door out of his grasp. It slammed against the interior wall, startling both him and the young man waiting on the other side.

  Bundled up in a thick coat and long scarf, with a hat pulled low over his brow, a lad of about sixteen blinked at him in surprise. “I bear a message for the baron,” he announced before Percy could gather his wits enough to speak.

  “From whom?”

  “I must deliver it to Lord St. Ives himself.”

  “I am Lord St. Ives, you little fool,” Percy snapped, irritated that Harripen had left him to do the job of a common servant. What good was a butler if he had to answer his own door during the most dangerous hours of the night?

  Obviously doubtful, the messenger paused as though measuring the richness of St. Ives’s robe against the small, balding man inside it. “My apologies, milord,” he said at last.

  Without his wig, St. Ives felt as old and shriveled as he knew he must look, which only made him angrier. “Well? Out with it!”

  “Your solicitor bid me tell you to come to the King’s Arms in Aldgate—immediately. And bring some men with you. He has found your wife.”


  Percy’s irritation evaporated. “Indeed! Then tell Mr. Moore I am coming.”

  The boy hesitated, waiting for a stipend.

  “I am in my damned robe. I haven’t got a half-penny,” he snapped and slammed the door.

  “Milord? What is the matter?” The crash of the door had roused Harripen. The butler shuffled forward, holding a candelabra with one shaking hand while squinting against its light.

  If his night visitor had been bent on murder or mayhem, the venerable butler was hardly able to defend him. Harripen carried a pistol, but he seemed more intent on shielding the flame of his candle with it than in protecting anyone.

  “Nothing now,” he replied. “But you can rouse Price and tell him to bring the carriage round. I am going to Aldgate.”

  “At this hour, sir?”

  “Indeed. My lady will not escape me again.”

  “Lady St. Ives has been found, milord?”

  “She has.” Feeling more energetic than he had in years, he made his way up the stairs to dress.

  “I do hope she is unhurt, milord,” Harripen called after him.

  St. Ives paused. “Yes, so do I.”

  The butler shuffled back toward the kitchen as, satisfied at last, St. Ives hurried up to his room. He would have his head footman hire some muscle off the docks, which was what he guessed Moore meant by men.

  His lovely young wife would be home by morning.

  * * *

  Jeannette paced before the fire in her room at the King’s Arms, unable to sleep. Finally full and clean and wearing some decent clothes, she told herself she should be in high spirits. But dinner had been miserable. The atmosphere between her and Treynor had been tense, and when it had come time to retire, he had brushed a quick kiss across her brow and left as though relieved to be away.

  With a sigh, she made another pass. She wanted nothing more than to see her family again. And yet …she dreaded the moment she would have to part ways with Treynor and face St. Ives.

  Perhaps in her absence the baron had decided he didn’t want a wife who would fly from his home….